


Set an Alarm for July 1st

by asparkofgoodness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 2020, After the phone call, M/M, Pandemic - Freeform, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparkofgoodness/pseuds/asparkofgoodness
Summary: Crowley was trying to do his part, stay indoors and set a not-so-terrible example for the humans, but the longer this went on, the more stir-crazy he grew.  He paced from room to room, missing the parks and museums and restaurants and theaters.  Missing going places, any places at all.  Missing his Bentley.  Missing having company.  And just when he had been about to break, the phone had rung.“Have to follow the blessed rules,” he said, giving the phone a final glare.  “Fine.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 83





	Set an Alarm for July 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're not sick of post-"Lockdown" fic yet! I wrote this hastily in the hours after its release, posted it on my Tumblr, and then forgot about it for a while. Figured I'd share it here for folks who haven't already seen it. It's a little tribute to the fandom and a "thank you" to Neil and friends for brightening pandemic life a bit with their talent.

“Goodnight, Angel.” And Crowley let the phone slip from his hand onto the cradle, not minding the loud clack-clack it made as it settled. “Right,” he sighed. “Nap it is, then.” He watched the phone as if waiting for it to protest. 

He knew it had been a long shot, his suggestion, but, well, times were strange now. Really, times had been strange for over a year: radio silence from Head Office, little motivation to do his usual demonic work, regular calls from Aziraphale that led to purposeless, relaxed meet-ups that lasted longer and longer each time. 

And then this virus went and made it all much stranger. Crowley was trying to do his part, stay indoors and set a not-so-terrible example for the humans, but the longer this went on, the more stir-crazy he grew. He paced from room to room, missing the parks and museums and restaurants and theaters. Missing going places, any places at all. Missing his Bentley. Missing having company. And just when he had been about to break, the phone had rung.

“Have to follow the blessed rules,” he said, giving the phone a final glare. “Fine.” He headed for the bedroom, changing into dark silk pajamas with a snap. It had been a long shot, yes, but not an impossible idea, given the new order of things. The old rules seemed to no longer apply. Or at least no one had dared to pop down or up and tell them they still did. Though they hadn’t spoken of it, Crowley knew Aziraphale felt it, too: the weight lifting from his shoulders, the shackles falling from his wrists. 

Aziraphale laughed louder, these days, with grins that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He rarely mentioned Gabriel or Sandalphon or stern notes. He acted as if he assumed Crowley would always return to his shop after a dinner out, as if he didn’t need an invitation anymore. One night, after countless glasses of wine, Crowley had drifted asleep on the bookshop couch. When the morning sun and a splitting headache woke him, he discovered he had been covered with a tartan blanket and left a glass of water on the coffee table. The bookshop was beginning to feel more like home than his flat. Why that was all permissible but quarantining together during this madness was not, Crowley couldn’t say.

He stopped in front of his bed, frowning. He was not particularly tired. At least, not in the physical sense. He didn’t need to sleep. But he felt a deep-set, familiar fatigue, one he hadn’t felt in over a century. What was the point of staying awake and wandering his cold museum of a flat by himself? No amount of food or entertainment or whiskey could quiet this need inside him. He knew that from experience. What he needed now and what he’d needed then, before his last long sleep, had been the one thing he simply could not have. And even now, after all they had survived together, after all they’d fought for and all they’d won, the universe continued to insist that Crowley keep his distance.

Closing the drapes with a wave of his hand, he collapsed into bed and picked up his iPhone from his nightstand. “Set an alarm for July 1st,” he told it. “Nah, make it August. Better–” A ring interrupted him. Dumbly, he stared at the glass screen, eyebrow cocked, but nothing popped up. Another ring, not the right ring for his mobile and too distant. He tossed his phone aside, leapt out of bed, ran to his desk, and looked at the ringing landline, heart thudding in his chest. _Shouldn’t pick up,_ he thought spitefully, and he picked up the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, hello. It’s Aziraphale again–”

“Yes, I know. What part of asleep don’t you understand?”

“Oh, did I wake you? I’m terribly sorry. It’s just… You said you were giving it two days, so I assumed–” Aziraphale sounded even more flustered than usual.

“Decided it couldn’t wait. What do you want?”

“I’ve been thinking…” Rolling his eyes, Crowley waited for an offer to deliver cakes or an asinine suggestion of something he could do to fight boredom or an explanation of how some made-up person in some old book had probably been inspired by some other made-up person from some other, older book. “About what you said earlier.”

Crowley froze, the phone cord tangled around his wrist and fingers.

“Now, as you well know, the government has advised against any sort of gatherings between people who don’t already live together–”

“I know,” he growled. “I know the rules, Aziraphale.” Hadn’t he always?

“But, um, I had the thought… Well, actually, it came from Anathema and Newt. You know how they had to put their wedding plans on hold until it’s safe again, poor dears…”

Crowley closed his eyes wearily. “Go on.”

“It was something Anathema said. That she is so thankful Newt moved in before this started. She helps him stay calm, and he keeps her busy. They learn new recipes together and fix up the cottage and go for walks when the weather’s nice.”

“You woke me out of a sound sleep to tell me that two people we met once are going for walks?”

“They can spend time together. And it’s okay, because they live together. All the time.”

A beat of silence passed. “Oh.”

“Yes. It’s a shame we don’t. Live together, I mean. Because you really shouldn’t be anywhere but your home, you know.”

“Right.” Crowley’s brain started working again. “Right, I see. Well, look, Angel, I wouldn’t want to impose or anything, but my lease is actually coming due in, uh, a month or so, and I’m not certain the new building owners will renew it without some serious demonic intervention…”

“How awful,” Aziraphale said happily. “It sounds as if you’re in the market for a new place to live.”

“That I am.”

“I suppose… I don’t ever use the bedroom above the bookshop. And, while it’s not ideal, people do have to move when a lease expires, even during a pandemic.”

“True. Very true.” Crowley felt as if he were walking shakily along an ancient rope bridge. One misstep and he would fall. He asked anyway. “Would you mind? It wouldn’t have to be for a long time, just a few months, until I find a new place.”

“Not at all, my dear. Shall I expect you tonight?”

He swallowed, head spinning, and then forced out a quiet “yeah.”

“Lovely. You can try the apple cake I just put in the oven.”

And when Crowley popped onto the bookstore steps that quiet evening, holding one plant and two bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, he found the door unlocked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow me on [Tumblr here](https://thetunewillcome.tumblr.com/) for more _Good Omens_ fun.


End file.
